


Ses Derniers Hommages  (His Last Respects)

by DebbieF



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DebbieF/pseuds/DebbieF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is for Buckeye01. She had mentioned to me that she enjoyed my story with d'Art and the king and wanted to see more moments like that with d'Art, and for a change not having him in peril. LOL!<br/>This one’s for you, mon ami!<br/>Also Francoise was d’Artagnan’s mother’s name in real life and I used it here.<br/>I kept his father’s name the same as in the Dumas novels as I always do. Alexandre was not the true name of the real d’Artagnan’s father. It was Bertrand.<br/>Possible hanky warning for those of you who want to break out the box of Puff tissues.</p><p>See notes at the bottom.</p><p>++++</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ses Derniers Hommages  (His Last Respects)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Buckeye01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckeye01/gifts).



  
_On the way to Gascony_

“I can’t believe Captain Treville let the whelp go clear back to Gascony without any of us?” Porthos griped. He knew his brothers felt the same as he did by how silent they had become on their long journey to catch up with their petite fre’re.

“It’s slightly over a two week trip to d’Artagnan’s home,” Aramis grimaced, “or where his home _used_ to be,” remembering that Labarge had destroyed it.

“If the lad pushes Zad a little harder than normal, d’Artagnan may cut his time by a few days,” Athos offered grimly. He was still extremely upset that Treville had not informed any of them, before they left on their own mission, about what the boy had in mind.

“He’s endeared himself to Their Majestys so much that I shouldn’t be surprised they granted this boon to our young one,” Aramis remarked. “He really hadn’t had a chance to go back and visit his pere’s graveside since his arrival in Paris nearly a year ago.”

“Oui,” Athos nodded. “I remember after the youngster had helped you two save my life that d’Artagnan told all of us that he had the innkeeper send his pere’s body back to Lupiac for burial while he went after the killer which, at the time, he thought was me.”

“Aye,” Porthos grunted, “and the whelps ain’t had a chance yet to go pay his respects,” he remarked sadly. He remembered his own days in the Court when he was just a petite thing and lost his maman to sickness. At least the few friends she had there chipped in for a proper burial for her.

“If it were not for the fact that Treville had sent just the three of us on that short assignment,” Athos was annoyed, “we would have been here to see d’Artagnan head out.” He tried not to be angry with his captain over his poor decision in letting the pup go it alone but it was hard not to be. “Now the boy has a three day jump on us.”

“I admit to feeling hurt that d’Artagnan didn’t consider havin’ us tag along,” Porthos glared at the gravel road they traveled on, lost in his own troubled thoughts.

“Perhaps the lad thought the captain wouldn’t be able to let all of us go with d’Artagnan since it is a long journey both ways,” Aramis offered.

“Treville told me explicitly that d’Artagnan wanted to do this on his own,” Athos feared for the lad’s safety on these lonely roads.

“With the luck or rather _bad_ luck that follows our whelp, d’Artagnan should know better than that,” Porthos spat.

“Anything could happen to the boy!” Aramis huffed in quiet anger. He had found four grey hairs in the mirror this morning and he was barely thirty years of age. This wouldn’t do at all. By the time d’Artagnan reached the age of twenty one years they all would be looking like the pup’s grandfathers. Even Athos was sporting grey hair now at his temples, though it would be his life for him to point it out to his stoic friend. And as for Porthos, well if the man's hair ends up snowy white Aramis would be the last person to say anything about it.

“It was good fortune for us that there had been no indication of bandit activity of late and that there are a goodly number of fellow Musketeers at the garrison or Treville may not have granted us the leave to follow our chiot,” Athos commented.

“I believe d’Artagnan thought we might have been needed more at the garrison when we returned and figured it would be easier to ask for some time off just for himself,” Aramis glanced at the closed off faces of his two brothers.

“It had passed my mind as well,” Athos nodded. “If we make good time and catch up with the lad I think we shall just shadow him for a time. Let the boy think he’s on his own.”

“That makes no sense,” Porthos disagreed. “Then tell me why we’re even botherin’ doin’ this in the first place?”

“Because it would make _us_ feel better,” Aramis added softly. “And I agree with Athos.”

Sitting up straighter in his saddled, Porthos shook his head. “ _You do_?” he grunted. “That’s a first for ya.” Hearing Aramis’ amused chuckle, Porthos relented and grinned himself.

“I feel responsible in a way,” Athos murmured.

“For heaven’s sake why?” Aramis pulled Belle abreast of Roger as he tried to gauge Athos’ reactions. He was damned if he was going to talk to the man’s hat!

“Of late I’ve felt that I haven’t been there for him,” Athos' lips thinned as he tightened his grip on Roger’s reins. Granted he had cut down on his drinking a great deal knowing d’Artagnan looked up to him as one would a true older brother. But lately thoughts of his wife drove Athos back to his nightly rituals of drinking himself nearly senseless and for that he would not have d’Artagnan be witness to that pedestal the boy had built under Athos’ feet crumble to dust.

“That could be said of all of us, mon ami,” Porthos thought that he too could have spent more time with the whelp instead of heading for the saloons to cheat at cards. He did remember asking d’Artagnan to accompany him on more than one occasion but the pup begged off numerous times. Perhaps Porthos should have disregarded what the youngster said and just dragged him off by the ear. Water under the bridge now.

“I’m just as guilty then,” Aramis admitted wincing as he thought about his time chasing women lately. The memories of Savoy never far behind him. Losing himself in a beautiful woman or two meant nothing to him but made that tragic time fade for a little while. He should have made extra time for their young one. Aramis vowed to do that once they caught up to the boy.

“Are we in agreement then that all of us share equally in the blame of pushing the child aside at times?” Athos waited and noticed two guilty faces frowning back at him. “We will do better by d’Artagnan.”

“The whelp deserves that and more from us,” Porthos agreed. “I’ve been thinkin’ that we’ve been takin’ the kid for granted lately.”

“Assuming he’d be beside us at the ready anytime we needed him,” Aramis sighed, shaking his head. “Considering that Gascon temper of his I’m amazed he didn’t try to clobber one of us into seeing what we were doing to him.”

“I’ve been drilling patience into d'Artagnan,” Athos’ dry tone caught the marksman off guard. “So if the boy felt the need to hit one of us he had finally learned to restrain his emotions, keeping them in check.”

“We probably should start working on our apologies now,” Porthos announced gruffly. “We’ve got enough time to come up with some good ones.” Seeing his brothers both nod their heads back at him, Porthos began on his.

++++

_Lupiac, Gascony - sight of where d'Artagnan's home and farm would have been_

He had made good time, d’Artagnan was pleased. Good weather had helped him and Zad get back home in less time than he thought. Using as much daylight as he could also had helped him arrive a good two days ahead of schedule. Now he found himself kneeling in front of two lone graves.

Sitting cross-legged on the warm ground, between both graves of his parents, d’Artagnan placed a gloved hand on each of their headstones and bowed his head. He spent the next few minutes in silence as he recited prayers that his maman had taught him. They came easily to his mind as d'Artagnan pretended his maman was beside him helping him recite his prayers at night before going to bed when he was only a petite seven year old.

He read what was on her headstone out loud to himself. “ _Francoise d’Artagnan, loving wife and mother. An angel on earth and now one in heaven_ ," d’Artagnan swiped at his eyes as his tears fell. “Maman, je t’aime,” he murmured softly.

Looking over at his father's headstone, fresh tears fell anew down d’Artagnan’s grieving face as he read the words etched there. " _Alexandre d'Artagnan, devoted husband and father. A good man who served France faithfully_." Hanging his head down, his hair fell into his soulful eyes. “Mon coeur souffre grandement, papa,” d’Artagnan wiped at his eyes some more. “Athos has tried to tell me I shouldn’t blame myself for your loss,” his shoulders slumped, “but the guilt still eats away at me.”

Lifting his head up, d’Artagnan surveyed the land where he had grown up. There was nothing left there now to ever indicate a thriving farm once existed. “Another thing I blame myself for,” he bleakly stared up into the sky. “I wasn’t here to prevent Labarge from destroying your legacy. “Tu me manques, papa.”

“You’d find it rather ironic that the last words on your lips to me was Athos’ name and as it turned out he wasn’t your killer. But I avenged your death by dispatching the one who took you from me.”

Hearing Zad snorting, d’Artagnan glanced his way but nothing seemed untoward. Heaven help him if he managed to run into difficulties while on his own out here. He would never hear the end of it from his friends. They seemed to feel that d’Artagnan couldn’t be let out on his own, like a wayward chiot. Grant you, trouble did seem to go out of its way to attach itself to him and that sort of _attachment_ he could well do without.

“I wished you could meet mes amis les plus chers, papa, I think you would have liked them,” d’Artagnan chuckled quietly as the light summer breezes teased his hair, blowing wisps of hair into his face.

“Porthos is such a giant of a man but with the biggest heart I have ever seen,” d’Artagnan told his father proudly. “He had a hard life growing up in the Court but he proved himself worthy of becoming a Musketeer,” d’Artagnan gazed around the area trying to visualize Porthos working on his father's farm. The man had the muscles for it and more than likely would have enjoyed the labor. “If you had met Porthos you would have immediately put him to use on our farm I’m sure.” D’Artagnan whispered next as if someone would overhear his words. “He’s been teaching me dirty tricks to use when engaged fighting an opponent," he chuckled. "I doubt you'd approve any of them but they do come in handy," d'Artagnan noted ruefully.

“Now there’s Aramis,” d’Artagnan huffed in fond laughter. “How to describe him is a bit hard for he’s in a class all his own,” he patted his father's headstone a few times in contemplation. “A man of many words… a poet… a marksman… and a man of God. You two would have enjoyed challenging each other over theology I’d wager,” he laughed into the wind that was still blowing gently all around him. “He’s also been teaching me some things in regards to the fairer sex that Athos probably wouldn’t approve of, but it has been quite an education. Here I thought I knew how to handle the ladies,” d’Artagnan huffed. “I don’t even come close when compared to him.”

“And speaking of Athos,” d’Artagnan sighed. “I would only tell you this as you’re not in the position to gossip to him but, papa, he reminds me so much of you,” he waved his hand in the air as if his father could actually see him doing so. “Not in your appearance for you two couldn’t be more unalike but in your temperaments. When I talk with Athos or he is teaching me a new fighting technique I suddenly feel like I am with you.” D’Artagnan stood up, working his legs out as they had grown numb from his position on the ground.

“I love all my brothers greatly but have a special place in my heart for Athos,” he kicked out at a small stone near his foot, watching it skip along its way. “I would never embarrass Athos by telling him that,” d’Artagnan chuckled. “The man wouldn't know a compliment if it hit him square in the face.” He walked closer to the headstone of his father. “You two would have got on without any problems. Probably would have ganged up on me teaching me what _not_ to do.”

Going to his saddlebags d'Artagnan retrieved two bunches of fresh wild flowers he had picked along the way. First he put them on his maman’s grave. Then murmuring a few brief prayers once more did the same to his father's. He then knelt in front of both graves and leaned forward to press a kiss on his maman’s headstone. When he repeated the same for his father, d’Artagnan stood back up. “Repose en paix.”

Turning away, d’Artagnan slowly walked over to the area where his home used to stand. There really was nothing for him left here at all to come back to except the occasional visit to his parent’s grave sites. With his work now as a Musketeer, those visits would be few and far between. Hearing a twig snap behind him startled d’Artagnan out of his thoughts as he unsheathed his sword, holding it at the ready in his right hand and whipping out his main gauche with his left.

Seeing three familiar figures approaching him on foot with their horse’s reins in their hands, d’Artagnan was astonished. Then he realized how close the inseparables were to his position and pulled a face. “How much of my _private_ conversation did you hear?”

Chagrined, all three men smiled sheepishly at the boy and if their eyes seemed brighter than normal well perhaps d’Artagnan could put it down to the sun shining too brightly in their eyes.

Realizing that he didn't receive an answer from any of his brothers just told d'Artagnan how much they _did_ overhear. “How did you manage to catch up to me?” d’Artagnan held up his hand, “and how was the captain able to spare all of you to come follow me?” He placed his hands on his hips. “I am old enough to be on my own,” he huffed, not really angry at them. Secretly d’Artagnan was pleased at their concern for him.

Stepping forward, Athos' solemn gaze rested on their youngest. “Nothing is happening in the area and Treville had Musketeers tripping over themselves trying to find something to keep them occupied," he explained dryly.

“Therefore,” Aramis took over, “we arrived back three days after you had left and the captain generously gave us leave to join you.”

“You’re a brave one to take on such a journey by yourself, whelp,” Porthos said gruffly, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair.

“I would have been glad of your company but thought perhaps you wouldn’t be back in time, nor that the captain wouldn’t be in need of your skills.” Turning away from them, d’Artagnan once more locked his gaze on the two lonely graves, especially his father's. Raising a hand to his eyes as they began to water again d’Artagnan wiped at them while his chin trembled and his shoulders began to shake. Suddenly he felt three sets of hands touching him, grounding d’Artagnan to them.

Turning back around swiftly, d’Artagnan lunged into Athos’ outstretched arms crying his heart out. He was tired of putting up a brave front as his voice broke. “It shouldn’t have happened the way it did,” his voice muffled against Athos’ shoulder as he felt his mentor’s hand carding through his windblown hair.

“But it did, child,” Athos whispered softly in the boy’s ear. “And if you hadn’t come into our lives the way you had,” he sighed and pushed the young man a little ways from him, “I would not be standing before you.”

When Athos let go, another arm crept around d’Artagnan’s shoulder. “God had a definite plan for you, young one,” Aramis smiled. “You were meant to come to us,” he smirked lightly, “one way or the other.”

“Aye, whelp,” Porthos agreed and engulfed d’Artagnan in a bear hug, lifting the boy’s feet off the ground in the process.

“Beautiful place your Lupiac,” Aramis added as his sharp eyes did a sweep of the rolling hills in the background.

“Oui, it is,” d’Artagnan sniffed. Collecting himself he pointed off to the right and showed them where his home used to be. “That’s what Labarge left me with.”

“You’ve got the land,” Porthos pointed out, “that’s more than some have.”

“I’ve gifted it to my papa's loyal retainers,” d’Artagnan saw surprise reflected on all their faces. “I didn’t see the need to say anything since it was just between myself and them,” he shrugged. “They can do with it as they see fit. I’m a Musketeer now... not a farmer.” Walking away from the graves, d’Artagnan glanced back one more time. “I just hope my papa understands the choices I've made in my life."

“I know he does,” Aramis nodded firmly and walked over to the lad's parent’s graves. Kneeling down, Aramis quietly said some prayers and made the sign of the cross over them.

“What now?” Porthos asked while waiting for Aramis to finish.

“I made good time getting here,” d’Artagnan smiled at them. “So I have a few days extra to use to visit my papa's retainers before heading back. They would be hurt if I did not stop to see them since I came all the way here.” He could see his friends looked a tad uncomfortable. “Oh, you would all be welcome. We’re very friendly and never turn strangers away.”

“Well then, boyo,” Porthos laughed, “lead the way.” His stomach chose that moment to growl loudly which made the others laugh. It was good to see the whelp smiling again Porthos thought as he slapped the lad on the back nearly knocking d’Artagnan into Athos in the process.

As they all were about to mount their horses, Athos placed a hand on d’Artagnan’s shoulder just as the boy was about to put his foot in the stirrup. “I would have been honored to have met your pe're,” Athos paused for a second, “and for you to compare me to him,” his throat threatened to close up on him but he struggled to continue, “leaves me almost bereft of words.”

“That ain’t unusual,” Porthos snorted, “You don’t say much to begin with.”

“But when he does, mon ami,” Aramis grinned, “it is worth listening too.”

“Athos,” d’Artagnan squinted at him as the sun glared in his eyes, “you don’t know what it meant to me to have you, Porthos and Aramis welcome me into your tight brotherhood,” he hung his head down only to have it tilted back up by a lone finger to his chin.

“You are a part of us now, d’Artagnan,” Athos proudly announced. “We’ve adopted you into our famille, petite chiot.”

“I’m not a _puppy_! Nor am I _little_!” d’Artagnan pouted, earning much hearty laughter at his expense. Blushing, he pushed away from Athos only then to feel Zad nuzzle at his neck in impatience. Patting his horse, d'Artagnan mounted Zad with ease. “Come, let us go see Lucien first. He was my papa's right hand man.”

As the inseparables watched the youngster get into the saddle, they glanced at one another with a knowing eye. None of them needed to say the words. They all were of one mind and body. D’Artagnan was theirs and theirs alone, and God forbid anyone that dared harm or took the lad away from them for there would be hell to pay! _All for one and one for all_ weren't only words... they were a _promise_.

The End

++++

_Notes:_

_Mon coeur souffre grandement_ \- My heart aches greatly

_Mes amis les plus chers_ \- My dearest friends

_Maman, je t’aime_ \- Mother I love you

_Tu me manques_ \- I miss you

_Repose en paix_ \- Rest in peace


End file.
